Ervolino: Getting the yard ready for, hopefully, nothing too exciting

By Bill Ervolino

The Record

The Ervolino boys were busy in their respective backyards last weekend.

Donald had landscapers coming and going in his backyard on Long Island, while he scurried around de-winterizing his patio area, his deck area, his barbecue area, his bar area (which includes its own outdoor refrigerator area), his trampoline area, his volleyball area and the cozy gazebo area adjacent to his enormous built-in pool area.

Donald has a lot of areas back there.

"I'm trying to get everything ready for NEXT WEEKEND," he said.

He stressed "next weekend," in case I had forgotten what next weekend was. Which I had.

"Next weekend?" I asked.

"Mother's Day!" he replied.

Ah, yes. Every year he has everyone-on-earth at his place for Mother's Day, so we can all shower his wife's mother (Laura) and our mother (Louise) with presents, plants and praise, while they both sit on big cushy chairs in the nice big seating area next to the nice big bar area which, one weekend a year, becomes the nice big mother area.

My entire backyard in Bergen County is roughly the size of my brother's deck, but that doesn't mean it doesn't require my attention and TLC. Or, at least the attention and TLC of the people I pay to give it attention and TLC.

One week earlier, my landscaper Evan arrived, with two workers, to do my spring cleanup and mulch the yard and the paths on either side of my house.

So, basically — as I explained to my brother — all yours truly had to do last weekend was trim a few errant branches and begin to untie all of the things I tied down before the arrival of Superstorm Sandy.

After a pause, my brother said, "Sandy? Wasn't that two years ago?"

"Yeah, why?" I asked. "You got a problem with that?"

Unlike my brother, who is a man of many talents — and areas — I don't do much at-home entertaining. So, I never got around to putting things back to normal back there.

Beyond sheer laziness, though, I think I've been traumatized in the last couple of years by our spate of apocalyptic weather reports.

Freakish snowstorms. Ferocious windstorms. And, that tornado I drove through last year in Paramus, as I was heading home from a speaking engagement at Bergen Community College.

(I suspected as much when I was tooling down Paramus Road and saw trees lifting up from the ground, but it wasn't a "confirmed" tornado until the National Weather Service said so, two days later.)

Anyway, I don't think I ever felt quite as alone as I did on the day before Sandy arrived, as I was loading up my shed with chairs, flower pots, and other potential projectiles.

As various television weathermen kept repeating, "Remember that, during a hurricane, anything outside of your house can become a deadly projectile!"

At one point, my back went out, but I continued tossing every projectile I could into my shed.

ALL BY MYSELF.

Yes, like the woman in that famed Roy Lichtenstein print, I occasionally clutch my forehead and say, "I can't believe it. I forgot to have children!" Children who would warm my heart. And bring a smile to my face. And, in times of impending disaster, will take care of things in the backyard while I'm inside pacing and sweating and doing tequila shots.

In the eerie calms before these storms, it's easy to persuade yourself that all of this is unnecessary.

So what if a flower pot jumps the fence and smashes into my neighbor's house?

But, then you look over the fence, see your neighbor's enormous untied propane grill, imagine it smashing into YOUR house and quickly come to your senses.

Anything I couldn't get into the shed was secured with heavy rope or chains. My aluminum patio table got the rope. I used the chains to link together my wooden picnic table, its two benches, my rusty, wood-burning chiminea, my outdoor chandelier (I use it with candles), and several wrought iron plant stands.

Since I didn't have something sturdy I could chain them all to, I figured I could at least chain them to each other. That way, their combined weight would keep them in place.

In my mind, I imagined the winds coming and none of the chained-together items moving. Then, in an alternate scenario, I imagined everything lifting off the ground and flying down the street like some deadly 1,200-pound charm bracelet.

Post-Sandy, I could never bring myself to untie everything. What if we get another storm?

Ervolino: Getting the yard ready for, hopefully, nothing too exciting

The Ervolino boys were busy in their respective backyards last weekend.

Donald had landscapers coming and going in his backyard on Long Island, while he scurried around de-winterizing his patio area, his deck area, his barbecue area, his bar area (which includes its own outdoor refrigerator area), his trampoline area, his volleyball area and the cozy gazebo area adjacent to his enormous built-in pool area.

Donald has a lot of areas back there.

"I'm trying to get everything ready for NEXT WEEKEND," he said.

He stressed "next weekend," in case I had forgotten what next weekend was. Which I had.

"Next weekend?" I asked.

"Mother's Day!" he replied.

Ah, yes. Every year he has everyone-on-earth at his place for Mother's Day, so we can all shower his wife's mother (Laura) and our mother (Louise) with presents, plants and praise, while they both sit on big cushy chairs in the nice big seating area next to the nice big bar area which, one weekend a year, becomes the nice big mother area.

My entire backyard in Bergen County is roughly the size of my brother's deck, but that doesn't mean it doesn't require my attention and TLC. Or, at least the attention and TLC of the people I pay to give it attention and TLC.

One week earlier, my landscaper Evan arrived, with two workers, to do my spring cleanup and mulch the yard and the paths on either side of my house.

So, basically — as I explained to my brother — all yours truly had to do last weekend was trim a few errant branches and begin to untie all of the things I tied down before the arrival of Superstorm Sandy.

After a pause, my brother said, "Sandy? Wasn't that two years ago?"

"Yeah, why?" I asked. "You got a problem with that?"

Unlike my brother, who is a man of many talents — and areas — I don't do much at-home entertaining. So, I never got around to putting things back to normal back there.

Beyond sheer laziness, though, I think I've been traumatized in the last couple of years by our spate of apocalyptic weather reports.

Freakish snowstorms. Ferocious windstorms. And, that tornado I drove through last year in Paramus, as I was heading home from a speaking engagement at Bergen Community College.

(I suspected as much when I was tooling down Paramus Road and saw trees lifting up from the ground, but it wasn't a "confirmed" tornado until the National Weather Service said so, two days later.)

Anyway, I don't think I ever felt quite as alone as I did on the day before Sandy arrived, as I was loading up my shed with chairs, flower pots, and other potential projectiles.

As various television weathermen kept repeating, "Remember that, during a hurricane, anything outside of your house can become a deadly projectile!"

At one point, my back went out, but I continued tossing every projectile I could into my shed.